


This

by yeaka



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-01
Updated: 2014-06-01
Packaged: 2018-02-03 01:38:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1726439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A spot of fun in Romania.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: My entry for March’s Daily Deviant.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or any of its contents, and I'm not making any money off this.

Nestled between the mountains, the Romanian valley is a temperate hot, beading sweat onto different speckled foreheads and warming pale skin to the colour of freckles. Ginny, pink faced and tired of only half-effective cooling spells, pulls out of the tour early. The dragons are, of course, _fascinating,_ grand, _beautiful_ creatures, but they’ll be all that tomorrow, and their constant stream of sweltering fire threatens to burn them all down. 

She tugs on the hem of Bill’s trousers, and he comes with her, flashing Charlie a smile that says it all; like the twins, the two older Weasleys seem mentally connected. But Bill belongs more with _Ginny_ than Charlie, and she’s already threading her arm around his elbow. 

The rest of the family barely notices when they leave; they’ve been cramped together for more than half of this vacation, and any time to splinter that is welcome. It’s too noisy, between Ron’s complaints and Percy’s threats to leave all over again and their mother’s yelling and the dragons in the distance, roaring down the countryside. How the green hills haven’t all caught fire yet, Ginny’s no idea, but then, she’s no dragon tamer.

Gringotts seems more interesting. But she doesn’t ask about it. Bill talks enough of it when the rest of them are around. When it’s just the _two_ of them, there are better things to do. They pick their way through the winding stone paths, disappearing around bushes and trees and the gentle slopes of overlapping hills, until the brown peaks of the tiny tents are in sight. It’s not so tiny inside, of course, and when they duck through the door, the temperature charm is a welcome reprieve.

It’s faulty, of course, like all of their things, but it’s something, and she’s not going to complain. She beelines for the kitchenette in the corner of the living space, the sleeping space branching off behind different fabric openings. She pours herself some water, wishing nonsensically that it was champagne, and she asks without looking, “Would you like some?” Bill doesn’t answer, not with words. He waits for Ginny to take her sip, and then he steps behind her, longer fingers wrapping around her small ones. His broad chest flattens against her back, the denim of his jeans scratching the back of her legs below her dress. He lifts her hand and the glass up, and he leans over to take a sip, while she stares at the plump curve of his pink lips and the clear water beads clinging to it. He spills a stray rivulet that drips down his chin, and she lifts up on her heels to lick it away.

She makes a face afterwards, and he chuckles, “What?”

“You’ve got stubble,” she mutters, pretending to gag. He’s cute with it, really, when it’s just a tiny, little fuzz, but it’s still strange to feel on her tongue. He uses his free hand to turn her face, fingers cupping her chin, and he plants a soft kiss on her lips, still moist from the water.

She licks it away too eagerly when she’s done, and he puts the glass down on the table behind her, turning her around by her hips. She wonders aloud, “When do you think they’ll be back?”

And he grins and asks, “Does it matter? That’s what Merlin made silencing spells for.”

“Are we going to need one?” She cocks an eyebrow, but she just wants to hear him _say_ it; it’s a redundant, useless question—he can make her _scream_ so easily. They’re apart too much. She’ll be moving out soon, she thinks, to move closer to him— _move in with him and Fleur and share?_ —and then they’ll do this all the time...

He loops an easy arm around her waist and lifts her off the ground, bending her back to kiss her more fiercely, and her fingers slide up into the tangle of his long hair. The heat’s slicked it with sweat, but it’s soft below that, and she tugs at the elastic that holds it together, and he grinds his hips into hers, pressing her back against the counter. Her spotted dress suddenly seems far _too long_ , and she wants to pull the leather jacket tied around his waist loose and toss it aside—the looped arms are digging into her body. She fiddles with it while he turns her, and her heels click against the fake floor again, and he’s walking her backwards, guiding her back to a fabric door...

It folds beneath them and she giggles as she tumbles down, his arms protecting her from the bulk of the fall. They roll over the sleeping bag—just one in this room, just for her, the only lone woman—and she finds the pocket at his side and digs in it for his wand. He wrestles it out of her fingers and waves it lazily in the air, muttering between kisses things to fasten the door shut and blur their shadows and lock them in silence. Then he mutters something new, and she gasps, arching off the floor as a sudden, cool, tingling sensation stirs in her body. She’s blushing in an instant and trying to cross her legs, but he’s already atop her, and her thighs are parted around his body. So she latches onto him instead, digging her stilettos into his back and moaning, “Wha...?”

“A lubrication spell,” he murmurs, now licking a wet trail to her neck, where he bites lightly and starts to _suck_ ; Ginny moans louder and clings to his back. She _loves_ it when he plays with her neck... “Just learned it—do you like it?”

She does, she thinks, and knows it when she squirms, when she rocks her body against his and feels how loose and warm it’s making her. It’ll make it so _easy_ to take him, she thinks, though she’s always wet for him anyway; he makes sure of that. She’ll feel more with this, perhaps; she already is; it’s like her senses are becoming honed to each little twitch and movement inside her own body, and she clenches her channel just to groan at the result: her body sparks in pleasure. Shivering in delight, she runs her hands down his front and purrs, “I _love_ it... _Bill_...”

He abruptly stops to lift up, and she watches pleasantly while he hurries to pull his shirt from his shoulders, tossing it away and leaving her to run her palms up the smooth expanse of his chiseled chest. His taut six-pack is delightfully firm beneath her fingertips, and his abs are tight and beautiful—he’s so _handsome_ , and he feels soft and strong. He descends back down to suck on her throat, and she tilts her head aside to expose the rest of her. He brushes her hair away and nips a line down along her shoulder, pulling down the thin straps of her dress.

He pulls them down and over the rise of her breasts, and they spill out—she never wears a bra on days when Bill’s around. She doesn’t care who else sees. She wants him to see the heave of her breath when she laughs, wants him to see their bounce when she moves, wants him to see the little indents of her nipples pressing through the fabric when he shakes out his hair or smiles extra wide, turns her on with just a look. Bill slithers down her body to cup both of her breasts, grabbing full handfuls and squeezing, kneading, then moving one aside to lick and kiss and nip at her sensitive flesh. He laps a trail to her nipple and pulls it into his mouth, tonguing and sucking on it hard enough that sometimes she thinks he’ll really draw milk. She wishes she could feed it to him. He tugs at the other nipple between his fingertips, and Ginny moans and starts to hump the bulge in his trousers, sure she’s leaving wet stains against the front of her dress. She tugs at his hair, tries to warn him to stop—she could come from this alone—but he _loves_ her breasts, says so all the time, and he sucks to his heart’s content. Finally, she just stills and lets him suck away, moaning when he finally pulls back and laps hungrily over the reddened area he’s left. He switches his hand with his mouth on the other side, and Ginny gasps and tosses her head away, arching into his mouth. He still plays with the other nipple, wet in the air and teased and abused, and only when she whispers a hoarse, “ _Bill_...” does he move on.

He slips his hands down her body, scrunching up her skirt as he goes, mouth still busy suckling her. Finally, he’s gotten the thin material around her hips, and that leaves her free to rub against him, wanting his jeans gone, and if there’s underwear underneath, she wants that gone too. He runs one big, warm hand down between her legs, cupping at her wet folds, and he pops off her breast to chuckle over her gasps, “No panties either, Gin? You naughty thing...” His middle fingers presses into her crease and rubs, slick in moments from how wet she is with the spell and her own arousal. She wants him _badly_. He cups her in his whole hands and squeezes and strokes and rubs her half-hidden clit with his thumb, and he kisses her collarbone and murmurs into her skin, “You’re so hot, Gin...” 

He starts to kiss his way back down, and she stops him, pulling him back up by his hair and growling, “No.”

He looks at her curiously, fingers still moving, and he smirks to purr, “I thought you loved it when I eat you out...”

“I do,” she insists, now grinding into his hand unabashed. She can be just as fierce as he is, fiercer, and all politeness falls aside when she hisses, “But right now I want your cock.” Because she’s not going to last long enough to take his tongue too, and besides, they don’t know how long the family will be gone. It’s been too long, and she’s sick of toys; she wants _Bill_ : big, strong, thick, mammoth Bill, pulsing inside her and filling her up...

She clutches his shoulders when he falls on her neck, all kisses and nips and profound, _I love you_ s. They fiddle with his trousers together and then it’s in her hand, pressed against her body, and she opens herself up to him: her brother, her lover, her _Bill_.


End file.
